Of Ice Cream Trucks and Shady Gas Stations
by YunalanaStarphyer
Summary: Lassiter and Juliet are working their latest case, of which Shawn is to have no part in. Gus is working, as usual. What's a very bored Shawn Spencer to do? Why, get into trouble, of course.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** To claim that I own Psych would just be silly!

**Author's Notes:**This story was written before the episode 4x09: 'Shawn Takes a Shot in the Dark' aired. This was my prediction of what I thought would happen. Even though after a bit it turned into my own sort of AU fic. Obviously spoilers are included.

It is the first fic in the _'Predictions_' series.

This chapter was originally supposed to be extremely short, and only a mild teaser for what I had planned to come. I found many mistakes in my first draft, and decided to rewrite the whole thing. This version is longer, and actually starts from the beginning.

**o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o**

"Stolen ice cream truck? Are you serious?" Shawn eyed the Chief suspiciously. "Was it at least stolen by a pack of mutated guinea pigs or a clown?"

"It's the only case we have open right now, Mr. Spencer." The Chief replied, impatiently.

"Not even a hint of mutant activity? Please tell me the culprit was Jamie Kennedy?" The Chief glared at him, obviously annoyed, and waved to the door. "No mutants, then..." Shawn said, standing quickly and making his way to the door.

**o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o**

As soon as Shawn got outside, he pulled out his phone, pressing the number for Gus's speed-dial. Shawn started talking as soon as Gus answered. "We just got a new case. Something about an ice cream truck that got stolen. So, you coming by Psych at eleven? I was thinking some Dairy Queen for lu-"

"No, Shawn." Gus finally cut him off, and Shawn looked genuinely hurt as he leaned against the wall of the police department. "I have three meetings to be at and as great as a delicious frozen treat would be to get my mind off of things, unfortunately, I won't be able to make it."

"Meeting Moaning Myrtle for lunch? Come on, dude, don't ditch your best friend." he whined. "I could really use you for this case."

"You mean you could really use me driving your ass everywhere." Gus snapped, and quickly added, "And don't call her that. As a matter of fact, I am meeting Tory for lunch."

"She's such a Goth." Shawn scoffed. "With the eye liner and the fingernails and the-" he mentally shivered "-séances."

"She does not do séances, Shawn! And she is not Goth. She just wears a lot of black."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Well, fine, go on your date with Elizabeth Bathory, I've got a case to solve."

"You do that while I'm at a real job, making real money. And stop calling Tory-" Shawn sighed, hanging up the phone and shoving it into his jacket pocket.

**o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o**

Back at the Psych office, Shawn glanced through the files on the ice cream truck. It was pretty boring stuff, the truck had been stolen last night around 9pm. The owner reported it after noticing it missing from the garage this morning. No witnesses. No signs of a break-in. Not even a traffic light camera caught it leaving. He sighed heavily, planting his face right in the middle of the file. He was getting nowhere. He wasn't even sure he wanted to be working, as it was a Saturday, but Lassie and Jules were out working on a case with some chop shop criminals-a case which the Chief had refused to let him in on.

There was a knock on the door, and Shawn looked up, wiping the paper that was stuck to his cheek off. He got up and moved into the lobby. A man around the age of fifty came in, looking around wonderingly. "Hello," Shawn said as he came around the doorway, noting the man's visible finch. "My name is Shawn Spencer. Professional Psychic Investigator."

"Really..." The man mumbled, seemingly distracted as he moved forward slowly. Shawn watched him as he looked over his shoulder, his eyes darting around frantically. "So, you would be the person to come to if I were-"

Shawn hissed suddenly, bringing his hands to the sides of his head. "Being followed?" he said quickly.

"Why, yes." The man said, glancing over his shoulder again. "I went to the police this morning because my ice cream truck had been stolen." Shawn raised his eyebrows, but the man didn't seem to have noticed, and continued. "They said they would put someone right on it. And as I was going home, I noticed a black car had started following me."

"You told the police but they said they couldn't do anything without probable cause or a license plate or description of the driver. You suspect they think you're nutty because of the ice cream truck incident." Shawn said quite dully, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Yes, of course." The man said, happiness beaming on his face.

"Mr. Newlins," Shawn said, and the smile grew brighter. "As it happens, the spirits are granting me access to your case. They have reviewed your problem and found my services sufficient to your needs."

"That's wonderful!" Newlins said, clapping softly. "I'll provide you with anything you'll need to solve this case."

Shawn looked at the man with a very serious face. "I'm going to need a doctor's coat and a swimming pool full of noodles."

**o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o**

Quiet was not a word used to describe the Santa Barbara Police Department. Especially since hiring the resident annoyance, Shawn Spencer, three years ago.

Today was no exception.

Detective Carlton Lassiter had just returned from a very unhelpful interview with a 'witness' in his latest case. Juliet was currently filing said useless information, while Carlton was looking over previous statements from their few witnesses and mug shots and interrogations with possible suspects.

It was nearly 2pm, and they were making no progress. Carlton's permanently short temper had gotten even shorter during their non-progress. He looked up from his desk just in time to see Shawn Spencer striding towards them, that permanent grin that haunted his dreams plastered smugly on his obnoxious face. And Carlton's tolerance meter hit zero.

He stood abruptly, addressing Juliet. "I'm going to interrogate more suspects. If I have to deal with him today," and now he pointed a very accusing finger at Shawn. Juliet turned and didn't miss Shawn pointing at himself and mouthing 'Who, me?' while Carlton continued. "I think I might-no, WILL-end up breaking his neck."

Juliet looked only slightly surprised, and watched as the detective scooped up his notes and began to run in the other direction.

"Is he... Fleeing from me? Jules, I'm hurt." She heard Shawn say as he walked up beside her.

"He's just having a... Horrible day." She said, turning to face him. "So, what brings you here today?"

"Just a very interesting client." Shawn said, sitting in Lassiter's chair.

"Carlton's going to be pissed when he catches you."

"If he catches me, Jules. And anyway, it's not my fault. He's the one that left, you know. Five-second-rule." He said, taking a pencil from a nearby pencil cup.

"I'm pretty sure that's food..."

"Oh well." He said, taking out a tube of superglue. "I didn't make up the rules of food stealing. Or... Chair... Eating..." He seemed slightly distracted as he put glue on the pencil and set it gently right on the edge of Lassiter's desk.

Juliet pretended not to see what he was doing and asked, "What do you need?"

Satisfied with his work, Shawn gave the pencil a quick jiggle to make sure it wouldn't budge, and replaced the glue in Lassiter's desk. "I have this weird client," Shawn said, leaning back in the chair and propping his feet on the desk. "He says he's being followed. Apparently he filed a report this morning about his ice cream truck being stolen..."

"Right," Juliet cut in. "I heard about that. No signs of a break-in."

"No witnesses or traffic cams caught it." Shawn added. "But he says someone started following him after he reported it to the police. I was wondering if I could look over the traffic footage."

Juliet looked uncertain, then nodded. "Go ahead. The tapes should still be in evidence. Have McNab bring you to it."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Do I look like I need an escort?" he asked.

"Yes?" Juliet said.

"Thanks, Jules." Shawn said, standing up and walking towards the evidence room.

**o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o**

It didn't take him long to find what he was looking for.

"Whacha lookin' for?"

Apparently not long enough, because that was the fourth time McNab had asked him. "This!" He shouted suddenly, one hand to his temple, his eyes closed, as he paused the video. Of course, he had noticed it the first time he'd watched it. He zoomed the recording in, so that the particular vehicle passing was clearly visible.

"This truck here," he said, pointing at the semi. It was the only one on the entire footage large enough to carry an ice cream truck. McNab leaned in closer, and Shawn read aloud from the logo on the truck's side. "Rhoda's Oil N' Fuel... 1952."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Wow. I completely forgot I was uploading this story on here. o_o; Well, real life decided to butt in, which should be all of the explanation I need.**

**The action finally starts in this chapter. Even though it's short. Hope you guys enjoy it!**

Shawn had called and tried to convince Gus to come with him exactly twelve times. He'd given up about an hour ago, and now was parking his bike across the deserted street from the gas station, Rhoda's, which also served as an auto shop/convenience store. He had taken off his helmet and was now watching the store carefully.

It was almost 6pm, and the sign on the door said 'CLOSED'. There didn't seem to be any activity inside or outside, and the semi he had seen on the tape wasn't anywhere to be seen. There was a rather large garage in the back of the store that he guessed it could have been in, but he doubted that. Shawn debated going in right now, or calling Jules or Lassie for backup. "Naw," he eventually said to himself. "How dangerous can a closed gas station be? And besides, they're probably too busy with their own case."

He also debated calling Gus, but he knew his friend would only throw a fit and tell him not to go in alone-like he had told him the last twelve times.

Satisfied with his decision, Shawn pocketed his keys and placed his helmet on the handlebars. He checked the street, making sure no one was coming (which, of course, they weren't) and ran quickly across. He stared puzzled at the small sign on the window next to the door, which read:

STATION HOURS:  
MONDAY-SATURDAY 7:00am-5:00pm SOMETIMES  
CLOSED ALWAYS!

"Now that just doesn't make sense..." Shawn said to himself, as he grabbed the handle on the door. He didn't expect it to be unlocked, and pushed it a little harder than necessary, the bell above the door ringing loudly, as he stumbled into the store.

The station appeared to be just as deserted as ever. The shelves and counter top were covered in dust, despite the rows of products that still rested there. The lights were out, and the descending sun shining through the windows only helped add to the eerie atmosphere. Shawn moved slowly, the door shutting behind him with another annoying -RING- He moved quickly through the store, taking in every useless detail he saw. The shelves were stocked full of products, and the freezers in the back were dark, full of milk and eggs that had probably gone bad several years ago.

The counter also had its own coating of dust, and the register didn't appear tampered with. "What happened? Some kind of nuclear evacuation?" Shawn muttered to himself. And now he turned around, not failing to catch the set of footprints that cut through the dust on the floor. The set of footprints that were obviously not his, as he had not gone down any of the aisles. The set of footprints that, he was certain, had not been there the first time he passed.

And now Shawn found himself moving towards the door-the direction he'd come from, as well as the direction the footprints lead. Though curiosity was eating at him, he had no intention of finding out who was in the store with him. He guessed maybe the eerie darkness was getting to him, but he was getting scared out of his mind. 'Maybe I should have called for that backup...' he thought as he got closer to the footprints.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw the man crouched in the aisle, looking at a row of chips as if he were casually shopping-as if he came to this abandoned store every day. The man, who looked tall even though he was crouching, had oily, curly black hair and now looked up at Shawn with bright blue eyes. He wore a dark blue mechanic's jumpsuit which was covered in grease stains.

The man straightened up, and Shawn found himself backing slowly away. "Sorry," He found himself saying, despite his instinct telling him to run for the door as fast as he could. "I must have walked into the wrong abandoned store. I'm just gonna go, now." Before he could even turn around, the man had drawn a gun and was staring at him maliciously.

"Who are you?" The man said, his voice was low and monotone.

"Judd Nelson." Shawn replied, his hands coming up at his sides. "Surprisingly, the years have done nothing to my stunning beauty." He didn't miss the way the man's eyes narrowed, or the way his face seemed to contort in fury. "Would you have accepted Emilio Estevez? Molly Ringwald?"

"One more time." The man said, the gun raising to Shawn's face. "Who are you?" A small frown formed on Shawn's face as he focused his attention on the barrel of the gun instead.

"Shawn Spencer, Psychic." He said, bringing his hands to his head. "And you had better put your gun down because I have just beamed out a telepathic message to the SBPD: You've been a bad boy, Chester Cheetos. And they're coming for you."

The man scoffed, the gun lowering slightly as he said, "Yeah, right. Then, tell me this, _psychic_, what exactly have I done?"

"You stole an ice cream truck!" Shawn shouted, pointing at the man.

"Don't be silly," he said. "What need would I have for an ice cream truck?"

"All of the icy good treats that're stored in the back?" Shawn guessed.

"You're talking out of your ass." The man said, bringing the gun up, again. "I haven't stolen any ice cream truck."

"You seriously haven't?" Shawn asked, and the man shook his head, his finger squeezing on the trigger. "OH MY GOD, LOOK, AN ICE CREAM TRUCK!" Shawn suddenly shouted, pointing behind the man and at, what he realized now was an empty wall. The man looked and he couldn't believe it. When he turned around, Shawn had already wrenched the door open. He recovered quickly, taking quick aim, and pulled the trigger.

Shawn's left shoulder exploded in a giant blossom of pain that propelled him through the door. He didn't stop to think about what had just happened, his right hand instinctively grabbing at his shoulder while he slammed the door shut behind him with his left. He had no idea why he wasted the time; it was flimsy and made of _glass_. The pain from moving the injured arm was incredible, and now he realized that there was something warm and sticky flowing between his fingers. _Oh, God,_ he thought quickly as he rushed away from the store. _I've been shot... The bastard actually shot me..._

Shawn could see his bike twenty yards in front of him, and he forced himself to run faster. He could hear the blood thumping in his ears, and tried to ignore that that was currently draining down his hand as he put more pressure on the wound. Shawn heard the door behind him explode open, and thought for a minute the guy might have actually knocked it off of its poor frame. He didn't waste time to look back, but heard the man running behind him.

Shawn wasn't prepared for the sharp 'POP!' that echoed around him, and he slowed for a second, quickly checking over himself for more holes. When he was satisfied he didn't find any, he tore off faster. He was barely out of the gas station parking lot when a yellow car came speeding around the curb. _What the hell?_ was all he had time to think before the car shot down the road in his direction, his bike right in its path.

The car swerved at the last second, missing Shawn's bike and instead blocking him from getting to it. He had trouble stopping in time and awkwardly smashed into the back window of the car. He couldn't see who the driver was, and didn't have time to focus on him, when he was grabbed from behind.

His assailant ignored his injury, grabbing Shawn by his shoulder with one hand, causing him to yelp in pain, and pushing him forward with the other, which he realized had the gun in it. "I call shotgun!" Shawn called as he was pushed towards the back of the car. The trunk, he noted, and it popped open. "I mean, I much prefer front seats, you know?"

He was completely ignored as they arrived at the trunk, the man reaching forward with one hand to open the trunk, the other keeping the gun steady on Shawn's back. And he let out a small cry of joy as his shoulder was let go, his happiness short-lived when the man nudged him towards the open trunk. Shawn looked inside, a slight look of disgust crossing his face. "You know-" he started, but was interrupted by the gun cracking hard over the back of his skull.

Stars exploded into his vision as he careened forward, his hands automatically coming up to cradle his head. Before he got the chance, he was pushed hard and he went tumbling into the back of the car. He didn't have time to protest his new accommodations as the trunk was slammed shut, and his world was swallowed in darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

Six hours and five more useless interrogations later had Carlton Lassiter returning to his desk. He placed the legal pad containing all of his notes on his desk-and that's when he saw it. It was just a plain, yellow, number two pencil sitting on the edge of his desk. But he knew better than that.

It was obviously the doing of one Shawn Spencer, and he knew he shouldn't have left his desk unguarded. Of course, O'Hara had been with him, but for all Calton knew, she was in on the prank.

He eyed the pencil suspiciously, wondering if he should even try touching it. Spencer was uncanny, and he suspected the worst. Like, if he attempted to pick up the pencil, it was somehow rigged to a trapdoor in the ceiling that would drop a bucket full of peanuts on him, and then an elephant would come stampeding into the department after him. This caused him to look up at the ceiling, but nothing appeared out of place.

No. That was just crazy. Whatever secrets the pencil held were far worse than that. He finally decided to avoid the pencil, picking up his notes slowly, as if trying to avoid triggering a bomb, and walked away.

**o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o**

The day (or rather night) wasn't going any better for one Burton Guster. He had checked his voice mail once he was finally released from his pharmaceutical prison (an expression which he now realized sounded too much like something Shawn would say) and realized he had zero calls-or texts-from Shawn. He had turned his phone off after their twelfth conversation, which had not lasted longer than twenty seconds, and was now becoming worried. Surely he would have called by now.

And now Gus checked his watch, 10:30, he noted. It had been six hours since their last conversation, which had ended in Shawn saying he was on his way to check out a lead. Exactly where or what that lead was, Shawn had not said, instead replying:

"Sorry, Gus, but you had to go and be a fuzzy navel. And NOT the fruity alcoholic beverage." He added quickly, and continued, "That is member-only information. You know, it's not too late for you to join-" and Gus had promptly hung up on him. He was starting to wish he hadn't, and was now staring eagerly at his phone's face, willing it to vibrate and show "1 Message: Shawn".

The message didn't come and (Gus had to admit to himself, he had only waited five minutes after checking the first time) decided to try calling Shawn, instead. It went straight to voice mail, and he felt his heart sink. He called the Psych office, had no luck, and ran to his car in a panic.

**o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o**

The house was quiet and, for the first time in a long time, Henry wished it wasn't. He had had an argument with Shawn and, while that in itself was no oddity, he wished he would at least call or something. He was feeling uneasy for some reason, and just felt like he needed to hear from his son.

The phone, as if on cue, startled him out of his thoughts, and Henry glanced at his watch. He could only think of one person who would be calling him at 10:56. He picked up the phone, and felt his heart sink when the person on the other line began speaking.

"Gus." He said. His voice was low, and his disappointment was evident.

"Mr. Spencer," Gus began. "Were you expecting someone else?"

"No, no." He said, quickly recovering. "What was it you needed?"

"I was wondering," Gus went on, "If you had heard anything from Shawn." Henry's breath caught for a minute, but Gus seemed to not have heard and continued, "I thought maybe you had scheduled some last-minute dinner tonight, or something?" His voice was hopeful, and the dread in Henry's stomach swelled. "Mr. Spencer?"

He realized he hadn't said anything and spoke quickly, "No, I haven't. We had another fight a few days ago, and..." He didn't have to finish, Gus knew exactly how Shawn's relationship with his dad was.

"Right." Gus said, sounding uncomfortable.

"Is he in any kind of trouble?" Henry was afraid to ask, but he had to.

"I'm not sure," Gus said. "He said he was following a lead on a case-that was over six hours ago-and I haven't heard from him since. He wouldn't tell me what or where the 'lead' was." There was an awkward silence between them, and Gus finally said, "Should I call Lassiter or Juliet? Maybe he went back to the station?"

Henry took a moment to respond. "Yeah, you do that." He said, and hung up. He grabbed his keys and headed for his truck.

**o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o**

What was the one thing Shawn wanted most in the entire world? An Aspirin. Or the very bad, out-of-tune middle school marching band that had manifested itself in his head in the course of hours (Days? He wasn't sure.) to please quit playing 'The Little Drummer Boy' very horribly in his mind. Oh! And that swimming pool full of noodles, he still wanted that. Oh, wait, that was three things. Could he cheat?

His eyes were opening before he wanted them to, and his head, he realized, wasn't doing the constant pounding behind his eyes sockets any good in the position it was in: lolled all the way back, with his mouth wide open. That wasn't good; anything could just fall in there.

As Shawn brought his head forward, his neck flared in pain. And as he tried to sit up so he could get to better know his surroundings, a volcano of pain erupted in his shoulder. He bit back a scream, jerking in the small chair he was bound to, despite the more agony it brought him. He forced himself to stop and, breathing deep and slowly, took the time to look around.

First, at himself. He was sitting in a short, uncomfortable chair. There were at least six strips of duct tape across his chest, holding him in place. There was tape holding his hands at his sides and his feet to the chair legs, as well, but he didn't dwell on that for long. Instead, what caught his eye was the rag that was folded and-God forbid-duct-taped to his wound. It was very badly done, the rag was almost completely soaked, and the tape was becoming unsticky and starting to fall off. Now, wasn't duct tape supposed to be, like, superglue? He thought back to the pencil on Lassiter's desk and just had to laugh. And then he wondered what the detective was doing right now... While he was being held here?

Shawn looked at his surroundings, this time. He was in a garage, the one behind Rhoda's, he assumed. There were cars parked in a long row on his left, all in different stages of being dismantled. The one closest to him, he noticed, was the cursed yellow one, the trunk still open. He glared at it, as if it could be intimidated.

To his right was a long wooden table, covered in various auto parts and tools scattered in no particular order. And, he saw, at least five rolls of duct tape.

The door in front of Shawn opened, and he instinctively pushed against the chair as a man-an older man, with curly grey hair and glasses-stalked up to him, the younger man close behind, still holding the gun. "I didn't know what to do with him," The younger spoke up as they both stopped in front of Shawn. "He just kind of... Found the store."

The older had crossed his arms and was now staring right at Shawn, his blue eyes nearly piercing through him. "Did he see anything?" He asked.

"I'm not sure," The younger replied. "He was just sort of looking around, and then went to leave when he saw me."

"Dude, you weren't exactly doing a great job hiding from me. Were you the one they always found first when you played hide-and-seek?" They were both glaring at him now, and the younger jumped forward, brandishing his gun threateningly while he spat out some nonsense like 'Shut your mouth or I'll fuck you up real good!' before the older reached out his hand to stop him.

"Shawn Spencer," The older said, holding up what Shawn realized was his wallet. "Psychic Detective? Really?" Shawn only glared at him, and he continued, throwing the wallet on the nearby table and leaning closer to Shawn's face. "Tell me what you were doing snooping around my store."

"It honestly was an accident." Shawn said, a small chuckle escaping his throat. When the two only stared at him, he continued. "Really, I was investigating this case I had about an ice cream truck-"

"He tried to tell me the exact same pack of likes, Eric!" The younger shouted, pointing at Shawn with the gun. The man seemed to not notice, but Shawn still leaned back a bit. The older, Eric, looked annoyed and turned to address the younger.

"Donnie," he said, getting close to the other man. "Don't interrupt the man when he's talking. And for God's sake, stop slinging that gun around before someone gets hurt." Donnie looked genuinely sorry and backed away, his head bowed in defeat.

"Now," Eric turned back to Shawn, who was pretty creeped out (more so than before) by now. "Please, continue your story."

"Um... Investigating a case about an ice cream truck," Shawn said, glancing nervously at Donnie as he spoke. "It was stolen, and carried off in a truck with this store's logo on it. So I came here, hoping to find out what happened, and why the truck was stolen."

Eric watched him carefully. "Well, isn't your luck just incredible. We haven't stolen any ice cream trucks, nor do we have any need for them." He said, glancing back at Donnie. "Too bad we have no use for you, though. Shame. You're going to be quite a mess to clean up."

"Exactly!" Shawn cut in, he heart racing frantically as he tried to think of something to say. "It will be hard to get rid of me. I mean, being a police employee and all. and I'm a psychic! I could tell you what the police are planning to do next-I could help you avoid them!" He was pleading now, seeing Donnie raising the gun and aiming it at his head. Shawn looked to the side, squeezing his eyes shut, and Donnie kept his aim steady, waiting for Eric's word.

"No," said Eric. "I really don't think you'd be that helpful." Shawn opened his eyes to look at him once more, and he leaned in and whispered, as if what he was speaking was some huge secret. "Besides, you talk too much."

Shawn whispered back, "And your brother is a retard." Eric leaned back, fury clear on his face. Donnie glanced at him, and moved closer to Shawn, the gun in his hand shaking threateningly as he squeezed it tighter.

"What'd he say, Eric?" Donnie said. He looked uncertain of what he should do, and he turned his attention back to Shawn, now pressing the gun under his jaw and into his neck. "What did you say to him?" Donnie screamed, pushing the gun harder.

Shawn was pushing himself away from the madman, and just managed a reply, "I told him you were a retard." he nearly spat, and Donnie exploded in fury. He pulled the gun back and slammed it against the side of Shawn's face. Hard. Eric came to his rescue, hooking his arms under Donnie's and pulling him back gently.

"I'm gonna fucking kill him!" he was shouting. The entire left side of Shawn's face was on fire, and he kept his eyes closed as he sucked in breath through his teeth, trying to surpass the agony. Donnie was dragged out of the room, kicking, spitting, and screaming other obscenities. A minute later, Eric returned, alone.

"That wasn't a smart move, Psychic." he said, and Shawn noticed the gun was now in his hand. "I've decided it might be good to keep you around, at least, for now. But if you ever say anything about my brother again, or try to do anything-"

"Yeah," Shawn cut in. "I'm totally gonna Hulk out and rip myself free of these six layers of tape." Eric didn't respond, just waved the gun in front of Shawn's face, and turned around to walk off.

"And don't think I didn't catch you eying that family picture on the wall over there, Psychic" Was all Eric said, waving his hand towards the framed picture of the brothers at a younger age, but definitely still the same people, along with a man and a woman on the wall to his right.

"Damn." Shawn said, as the door was closed behind Eric.


	4. Chapter 4

It had certainly been hours since anyone had last visited Shawn. He stared at the door in front of him, but no one decided to drop by. He had spent most of the time looking for anything else he could use against the brother, but found nothing. Not in the garage, at least. And a thought struck him: This was only a store, what if they'd gone home for the night? It was night. He was quite certain of that, because he was becoming sleepy. He had tried twisting himself at an awkward angle to see his watch, but that only aggravated his injury even more.

It both frightened and delighted him that they may have gone home. He was really hungry, and his throat had become incredibly dry in his last few hours staying there. Although they were criminals, he was sure they wouldn't let him starve. Would they?

The good thing about them being gone (and this was assuming that they were) was that it gave Shawn more time to plot out (and experiment) his various escape ideas. One of which was to pull his phone out of his pocket. As easy as it sounded, Shawn had been trying to do this for the last 40 minutes-he estimated.

The way his hands were bound made him able to reach his pocket-but not into it to pull out the phone. Thank God he'd turned it off before going into the store. And then Shawn found himself wondering how everyone else was doing without him. He wondered if anyone had even noticed he was missing, or possibly looking for him. But then, he was very certain it was late into the day-if not early Sunday by now, and everyone was probably asleep. He scoffed to himself. Great. He was being held (bleeding) in this place, while all of his friends were having sweet dreams.

Shawn wished he could fall asleep. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how exhausted he was. He'd tried falling asleep in the chair, but that was just too impossible, given his current position.

As if to add to his extreme discomfort, his bladder chose at that time to remind him that it hadn't been emptied all day. "Oh, come on." he whined, wiggling in his chair. He bit on his lower lip and looked to his right, noticing an opened pocket knife amongst the garbage piled on the table there. "Don't they know leaving knives open is dangerous?" he mused, hopping closer to the table.

He stopped hen he got closer to it, a problem suddenly manifesting itself; the table top was just above his eyes. He grumbled. How the hell was he supposed to reach it way up there?

He didn't have long to think about it, as the door burst open, and Donnie came barreling in. "What's with all the noise? What're you doing in here?" he shouted. Shawn stared at him. He hadn't realized he'd made that much noise-and he was quite relieved that someone was still there.

"I gotta pee." Shawn whined, staring up at his captor like a little kid.

"You'll just have to hold it, then!" Donnie shouted, and Shawn was glad to notice he no longer had the gun in his hand.

I'm sleepy, too..." He pushed. "What time is it? Couldn't you guys get me, like, a bed, or something? Because you obviously plan on keeping me here for a while. And how about some food, I'm starving. And Thirsty, too." The look on Donnie's face was incredulous, and though Shawn's brain told him to shut up, his mouth seemed to be malfunctioning, and just wouldn't stop.

"I don't know what good Eric sees in you," Donnie said, cutting Shawn's rambling short, and leaning closer to him. "But I promise you, when your worth is over, I will be the one to put a bullet in your brain. You're far too much trouble than you're worth..." He seemed to be talking to himself now. "Should have killed you a long time ago..."

Shawn snorted. "Empty threats. Dude, like I haven't seen a cliché action movie before. What does the bad guy always say? Something stupid to make him sound tougher, like, 'I'll kill you when this is over' or 'if you weren't so useful, you'd be-'"

"Do you ever just shut the fuck up?" Donnie shouted. He had taken a few steps from Shawn and was now clutching the sides of his head like a madman.

"Only when I'm dead." Shawn replied.

Donnie gave a small, agitated scream, grabbing the hair at the sides of his head tighter, and kicked a can of what might have been antifreeze across the floor. He looked back at Shawn, who had backed into his chair. Donnie pointed a threatening finger at him, and Shawn actually flinched. Without another word, he retreated, slamming the door loudly behind him.

**o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o**

He wanted nothing more than to be in his bed-for God's sake, it was half passed 2am-having sweet dreams. Carlton had been called by the last person he'd ever expected to call him-Guster-and been informed that Spencer was missing. Though he normally would have dismissed it as some stupid prank, the worry in Guster's tone, as well as the older Spencer barging into the station shortly after, had him switching back into detective mode.

That was about three hours ago, and now he sat at O'Hara's desk, looking over the file for the case Spencer had been investigating. How the hell could someone go missing looking for a damned ice cream truck? But, he supposed, anything was possible with Spencer.

As this thought crossed his mind, he glanced over at his desk. The yellow pencil (which he had been avoiding for the whole day like it was the plague) still sat there, unmoved and, as far as he knew, untouched. Well, there wasn't a layer of peanuts covering his desk, and there certainly wasn't an elephant stampeding around.

This made him think of Spencer, and he was surprised to find he was actually worried about the missing psychic. Carlton sighed, dropping his pen and planting his face in his palm. He was so tired, but he'd promised (or rather been forced to promise) Henry that he would find his son. Henry and Guster were currently in the Chief's office. She'd called them in as soon as she had heard, and they'd been there ever since.

He looked up to see O'Hara, who was just as worried as ever, walking up to him. "Anything?" She asked, and Carlton didn't even have to reply; he just shook his head, tiredly, and she sighed, sinking into his chair. "What do we do, Carlton?" She asked, her worry written clearly across her face as she looked up at him. "How are we going to find him?"

"I don't know." he said, looking away from her.

He was slightly distracted, and, at first, didn't recognize his phone ringing until O'Hara said, "Phone, Carlton." and he looked at it. It was vibrating, and moving slowly across O'Hara's desk, and he snatched it up before it could topple over the edge.

He put it quickly to his ear, saying, quickly, "Lassiter."

O'Hara suddenly narrowed her eyes in thought, looking first at Carlton at her desk. "What're you doing at my desk?" Then she looked at his chair that she was sitting in. "And what am I doing at yours?"

Her question never got answered, because Carlton stood up suddenly, O'Hara's chair flying across the room. What he said next had her standing suddenly, also.

"Spencer?" he shouted into the phone.


	5. Chapter 5

"Lassie..." Carlton pressed the phone closer to his ear. The voice coming through was low, and sounded panicked.

"Spencer?" he shouted, standing suddenly, and Juliet was at his side in seconds.

"Shawn?" she shouted, hardly able to control herself.

Lassiter held up a hand, turning his attention back to the phone. He could hear uneven breathing and, after a while, Shawn finally spoke again, his voice low.

"Jules...?" he said, but didn't wait for an answer, and quickly addressed Carlton once more. "Lassie," he said. "Good to... Hear from you..."

"Spencer," Carlton said. His voice was a bit louder than he'd meant it to be. "Where the hell are you?" He motioned for Juliet to grab a pen and paper, and noticed that Henry, Gus, and the Chief had now joined them.

"Um..." Shawn began, "A convenience store... Rhoda's, in the garage. At least, I think... It's an abandoned-looking store down Garmen Road." There was a short yelp from the other line, and Carlton's grip on the phone tightened.

"Shawn," Carlton said, forcing himself to stay calm. "Are you hurt?"

There was a moment of silence, as if he were debating whether or not to tell the detective. "Shot..." he muttered, and Carlton felt his stomach tighten.

He swallowed quickly and said, "Don't worry, Shawn, we're coming to get you."

There was a short laugh, and Carlton didn't know whether to be offended or worried. "It's not the shot that I'm worried about," now he was talking faster. "It's the-" but he was cut off. There was the loud sound of something connecting with flesh, and Shawn screamed. There was a bunch of scratching and clattering and other indistinguishable noises before Shawn shouted, "NO!" and the phone went dead.

Carlton pulled it away and looked at it as if it were a unicorn. 'Call Ended' was displayed across the screen. He looked back at everyone who had crowded around: Gus, Henry, Juliet, the Chief, and a few policemen. "He's..." He took a moment to get his thoughts together, looking away for a moment. When he looked back, he was himself again.

"He's at a convenience store called 'Rhoda's', it's on Garmen Road." He watched as the officers scattered in different directions.

Henry was the first to speak up, stepping forward with his arms crossed. He had easily read Carlton's face. "What's wrong with my son?"

"Shawn's been shot." Carlton said quickly, as if the problem would go away once he said it. It didn't. "What're we still doing here? We're wasting time, let's go!"

**o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o**

The pocket knife lay on the floor by Shawn's feet. He didn't quite know how it got there; he'd been trying to grab something-anything-from the table, and somehow, it was the ting that fell first. It had clattered across the floor and was now on his left side, and now he was trying to figure out a way to reach it. He tried to move it towards him with his mind, but that had gotten him nowhere. He pushed himself to the left a little, and looked down in dismay. The only way he could think to reach it was to throw himself on the floor... On his left side.

He sighed, closing his eyes and rocking himself as far left as he could. The chair leaned, but snapped back where it was. He tried again, pushing harder this time, and let out a short "Eep!" when he fell. The chair made a loud clattering noise as it hit concrete.

Pain shot up his arm, and he bit his lip, trying to keep himself from screaming. He wasn't sure why, the brothers had probably heard him when he fell, which meant he had to work fast. He ignored the pain and the blood that was draining down his shoulder from the re-opened wound.

Shawn grabbed the knife and cut the tape from his left wrist. His hand immediately shot into his pocket and produced his phone. His fingers fumbled, unable to find the right buttons, but he eventually got Lassiter's number in right.

It picked up after the second ring, and Lassiter answered, "Lassiter." It was more of an annoyed bark, and Shawn was worried he wasn't in a good mood. But then again, when was he ever?

'He certainly won't be after this...' he thought. He caught his breath and said, "Lassie." It came out as a whisper, even though he didn't mean for it to.

"Spencer?" Lassiter's voice was a mixture of both surprise and... What was that other thing? Was that... Worry? Were they looking for him? He took a deep ragged breath, tears forming in his eyes.

"Shawn!" That was Jules! Oh, she must be so worried...

"Spencer." Lassiter spoke again, and Shawn could make out the worry in his tone.

"Jules..." Shawn said. He wished he could say more to her, but he didn't think he had much time, so he switched back to speaking to Lassiter. "Lassie..." As he said the detective's name, he felt a brief feeling of security wash over him, despite the current situation. "Good to hear from you."

What came next was what what he'd expected Lassiter to sound like when he first started talking: "Spencer, where the hell are you?"

"Um..." Shawn's head was starting to get foggy. Just where was he...? "A convenience store." he managed. "Rhoda's." he remembered, trying to speak the memory before it left him again. "In the garage. At least, I think... It's an abandoned-looking store down Garmen Road." He tried to hold the phone between his shoulder and cheek while he reached for the knife, but it hurt too much, and he let out a small yelp. He sat still, breathing quickly and trying to calm down.

Lassiter spoke up again, this time he sounded afraid. "Shawn," and Shawn didn't really know what to think. "Are you hurt?"

Shawn almost said something, he opened his mouth to speak, but heard footsteps outside. "Shot..." was all he said, and he watched as a shadow fell across the bottom of the door while Lassiter spoke.

"We're coming to get you." The door opened and Eric stared at Shawn in amazement, who laughed in return.

He started speaking quickly as Eric ran up to him. "It's not the shot that I'm worried about, it's the-" He didn't get to finish, because Eric had pulled his foot back and kicked Shawn in the side of his head.

Shawn screamed as his head snapped back and the phone skittered across the floor. Shawn tried to reach for the phone, but Eric took two quick steps and raised his foot over it. "NO!" he shouted, just as Eric's boot came down and shattered the phone. His precious lifeline... Eyes narrowed at Shawn as Eric turned.

"What the fuck were you doing?" he shouted, moving closer to Shawn.

"I told Don I was sleepy." Shawn said with a small shrug, his left hand reaching for the knife while he kept Eric distracted. "I was calling for a better mattress."

Eric looked disappointed as he moved towards Shawn, his hand recahing behind him for-the gun. Shawn's heart leaped, and he swung the knife out at Eric just as he got close enough.

The knife lodged into Eric's knee, and he screamed loudly, falling to the floor and cradling his injured leg. Shawn acted fast, pulling the knife back out (ignoring the blood that spurted on him) and cutting the tape from his other hand. He switched hands, the pain in his shoulder was just too much, as he cut the tape from his chest. He was bending to cut his feet free when he noticed Eric sitting up, beside him, reaching for the gun again.

Shawn cut his feet loose just in time as Eric leveled the gun at his head, and he rolled away. Shawn pushed himself up, moving towards Eric. He made a grab for the gun, but Eric was faster, and moved away, bringing the gun down on Shawn's head.

Shawn's vision blurred, and bright white spots exploded in front of his eyes. The gun leveled on his face again, and this time, he grabbed it, pushing it away just in time. It went off to the right of his head, his ear ringing loudly, and he tried to pry it from Eric's grip.

They wrestled for the gun for a few minutes, swinging it around at each other wildly until it came between them, and fired.

Shawn wasn't sure who was more surprised, Eric, or himself. He pulled away from Eric slowly, scrambling to his feet. Eric's mouth filled with blood which ran out of his mouth and pooled on the floor.

Shawn stared at the man's blue eyes, but Eric no longer stared back at him. Shawn stumbled, forcing himself to stand, and looked at his shoulder. The rag was doing him no good, so he ripped it off, instead pressing his hand against the wound, and started searching the table beside him for a replacement. The blood was collecting now, and draining down his arm.

He had not finished his search of the table when the door exploded open.

**o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o**

**A/N: **About the Unicorn thing...

When I first wrote this, I was trying to think of something you would look at as it it weren't possible. Now I realize I could have just as easily said 'Lassiter looked at the phone incredulously.' but, hey, I was a weird kid a few years ago. And the story hasn't been touched in over a year. This is the way it was submitted, and this is the way it shall remain forever.


	6. Chapter 6

Donnie stormed into the room, his sights falling first on Shawn, standing shaking in the middle of the room, then on Eric, laying in a pool of blood. "ERIC!" he screamed, racing forward and dropping to his knees beside his brother.

Shawn was trying to think straight, though all that was running through his head was 'Oh, God, I just killed him...' He forced himself to calm down; he could take advantage of Donnie's distraction. He saw the gun lying on the floor, and went for it.

"YOU." Shawn looked up. Donnie was now holding his brother, despite the blood that was covering his arms and chest. His voice was contorted with rage, and spit flew as he spoke. "YOU KILLED MY BROTHER!" He screamed, his finger pointing at Shawn as he stood. Shawn, who was making his way towards the gun, had stopped when Donnie had called to him, and now glanced back at it. Donnie noticed the movement, following his gaze, and then they both ran for the gun. Shawn felt it in his hand, and was closing his fingers around it, when it was yanked back.

Donnie didn't take time to think, and started hitting Shawn in the face with the gun. Shawn fell to his knees, a small cry escaping as he brought his hands up to shield himself, but Donnie continued to hit him, blinded by his rage. Shawn, unable to hold himself up anymore, fell to the floor, his arms cradling his head, and Donnie began to kick him.

When Donnie finally stopped, Shawn was sobbing on the floor in the fetal position, his arms wrapped protectively around his head. "Eric..." Donnie said again, looking down at Shawn's form in disgust.

"It d-doesn't matter..." Shawn choked, his voice catching between sobs. He lowered his arms, but stayed on guard, and looked up at his assailant. "Th-the police... I c-called... They're comi-ing..." He swallowed, trying to push himself off of the floor.

"No, no, no..." Donnie said, putting his hands to his head once more. He looked completely lost, and scared without his brother, and Shawn found himself backing away as he mumbled to himself. "YOU'RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE!" he roared, pointing the gun at Shawn. Shawn stopped mid-crawl, and looked back up at Donnie. "The police are going to be here soon..." he said, his eyes darting around frantically. "We need to get out of here, don't we, Eric?" Donnie bent down to his brother, the gun still trained on Shawn as he spoke. "We can't let them catch us, and we have him," he motioned to Shawn with the gun. "They can't hurt us as long as we have him." He closed Eric's eyes and stood up, his attention turning back to Shawn. "No, I'll just have to kill you, quickly, before the police get here." He looked around the room, as if searching for something. "Don't go anywhere." He said to Shawn, and started walking towards the back of the garage.

Shawn stayed still a moment, still staring at Eric. He couldn't believe it. But, it had been an accident, right? They would forgive him, they had to. It wasn't his fault, and Eric had attacked him. He looked back and saw that Donnie was no longer in the room. Where had he gone? Shawn pushed himself to his feet, holding onto the table for support. He still didn't see Donnie, and started walking towards the door. Could he just leave? He was sure the police should have been here by now. And even though the road was abandoned, he would surely run into them. All he had to do was get outside.

Shawn stepped around Eric, trying not to look at him, and looked at the door. It had been so easy-there it was. The door, right in front of him, and nothing was stopping him from bursting outside. He broke into a run. He could feel his excitement, the hope swelling up inside of him. He was actually going to make it.

A loud 'BANG!' echoed through the room, and Shawn fell face-first to the floor, pain engulfing his right leg. He was so close. The door was right there. Shawn held his bleeding leg and looked back at Donnie, who was lowering his gun. "I told you not to fucking move." he said, walking closer to Shawn. "I told you." Shawn saw that he now carried a length of rope and a roll of duct tape in his other hand. Where had he gotten that from?

Donnie crouched next to Shawn, pressing the gun to the side of his head. "I told you." was all he said. He moved behind Shawn and dropped the rope at his side. He grabbed Shawn's hands and pulled them behind him. Shawn tried to struggle, but that only earned him a slap in the back of the head with the gun. He was dazed a moment, and Donnie took advantage of that, quickly binding Shawn's hands behind him with the duct tape.

When Donnie was satisfied, he grabbed the rope and stood up, walking back around to face Shawn, who was trembling, looking up at him with a horrified look on his face. "I've got the perfect idea." Donnie muttered, pointing the gun at Shawn again. Shawn was truly terrified now. Would the police make it in time? What was taking them so long? Donnie looked Shawn over, his gaze stopping at his hazel eyes, wide with terror. "Get up." He said, and Shawn thought for a minute he was joking. "Get up!" he barked again, the gun shaking in his tightened grip.

Shawn pushed himself to his feet, forcing himself to stand and putting most of his weight on his left leg. It was pure agony, and he tried to keep himself upright as Donnie motioned towards the back of the garage. "Walk." was all he said, and Shawn saw it now-there was a back door, slightly hidden by a rather hideous car. Shawn tried to move forward, but as soon as he put pressure on his leg, he crumbled to the floor with a sharp cry of pain. Donnie didn't seem impressed with his attempt, and instead grabbed him by his shirt collar and began dragging him to the back of the garage.

Shawn tried to stop himself being pulled, latching his feet on table legs and anything else he was dragged by, but Donnie only turned and hit him again until he let go. They were at the door in seconds-or so it seemed, and Donnie dragged him backwards through the open door, his eyes lying on Eric for the last time before he was dragged over the threshold and the door was slammed shut.

It was dark outside, but that didn't surprise Shawn in the slightest. What did was the huge tree that Donnie dropped him underneath. He was laying on his back, watching as Donnie walked to the tree and looped the rope over a low branch. "You caused my brother a lot of pain," Donnie was saying, but Shawn was sitting up now, moving away from the tree. "What did I say about staying put?" Donnie shouted, firing another round just to Shawn's left. Shawn jumped, instinctively moving to his right, and Donnie turned back to his work. "And you caused me a lot of pain." He continued. "That's why you're going to have a slow, horrible death. And once you're gone... Eric and me, we're gonna get out of here. We'll go someplace nice. Maybe Hawaii."

**o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o**

Rhoda's was over half an hour away, even though Carlton was speeding. He feared what might've happened in the short time it took them to get there. Could Shawn be dead, already? No. He quickly dismissed that thought. There was no way. He glanced at Juliet, at his side. She was biting her lip in frustration, her pure terror evident, though she tried to hide it. She was thinking the same thing, Carlton realized. 'What if they didn't make it in time?' His eyes narrowed in determination, and he thought no more of it, and sped up even more.

**o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o**

Henry's knuckles were turning white from his death grip on the steering wheel. Guster was sitting beside him, and hadn't said one word the entire time. He was looking out his window, but Henry knew where his thoughts lie. He was thinking the same thing, and he hoped that he was wrong, that when they reached the store, his worst fears weren't true. That his son wasn't... He couldn't even finish the thought. He pushed the idea as far back into his mind as possible and sped up as Lassiter's car did.

**o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o**

At 3:15am six police cars pulled into the parking lot at Rhoda's, Henry's old truck not far behind them. Lassiter and Juliet were the first to arrive, already out of their vehicle and moving towards the store when the other cars pulled in.

Their weapons drawn, they approached the store. Lassiter grabbed the front door, opening it slowly. He moved through the dark store quickly, watching everything he passed. He noticed several cops following his lead, and Henry and Guster hanging back-though they obviously wanted to rush ahead and find Shawn.

He spotted the door in the back of the store with a red sign on it that said "Employees Only: Garage". Lassiter motioned for a few of the officers to continue searching the store, that he and Juliet were going to examine the garage.

Lassiter covered his eyes as the door was opened, the bright light inside lighting up the whole store, and walked cautiously inside. The body on the floor was the first thing he saw. It wasn't Shawn, but there was blood pooling around the person's head, and he walked nervously up to it. Juliet continued scanning the area while he checked the man's pulse, though he didn't need to. There was a small hole on his left side; a punctured lung, he thought. "He's dead." He confirmed, rising to his feet, and taking in the rest of the room.

There was obviously no one else there, and the place was a mess. There was an overturned chair nearby the dead man, there was tape on the legs and side, as if someone were restrained. There was more blood under the chair, and random specks in other places. A knife haphazardly thrown on the floor, covered in blood. And then there was a large trail of crimson that cut across the whole floor, and lead right outside the backdoor.

Henry and Guster had made their way into the room, and Henry was standing by a yellow car parked on the side, its trunk wide open. He had taken something out of it, and was holding it almost lovingly. Lassiter recognized it instantly, it was the jacket Shawn had been wearing the previous day, and it was covered in blood. "That's evidence, Spencer." Lassiter said, but Henry was ignoring him.

He turned back to the trail of blood, and then looked at Juliet. They made a silent agreement, and moved towards the back door. Lassiter placed his hand on the door knob, steeling himself as he turned it, pushing it open and raising his gun as he walked back outside.

His eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness, but it didn't take him long to see what was going on.

A man was standing at the base of a large tree, looking up at another man-Shawn, Lassiter instantly realized-who was hanging from a rope. Shawn's hands were behind his back, and his feet were kicking weakly while the rest of his body jerked desperately. The man looked at them right as the door opened, and he instantly raised his gun.

"Drop your weapon, and step away from Spencer." Lassiter barked, raising his own gun and pointing it at the man. Juliet was beside him, her gun also trained on the man, and she let out a small gasp as she saw Shawn.

"Can't do." The man called. "He killed my brother, and now, he's going to die."

Lassiter thought a moment. The man in the garage... Shawn had killed him? They were wasting time, valuable time which Lassiter knew Shawn didn't have, and he looked back up at the struggling man dangling from the tree. Shawn's movements were getting weaker every second. "One more time." Lassiter said, his voice betraying the look of confidence on his face. "Drop your weapon. Now. And move away from the victim."

The man scoffed. "I'm a victim, too." He said. "My brother's dead because of him." He motioned to Shawn with one hand. "And there's no way he's going to get off that easily. You can't stop me-" he had raised the gun back to Lassiter, and his finger was tightening on the trigger when a cloud of red exploded on his chest, and his hand went slack, the gun dropping as he said, in a surprised tone, "The fuck?" before falling to the ground.

Lassiter wasted no time, his aim quickly changing from the man to Shawn, and just above his head. He fired once-it was all he needed, and the rope above Shawn snapped and he fell the short distance to the ground. It was only a foot, and it was amazing how close he had been to being fine.

Lassiter rushed to his side, loosening the rope from around Shawn's neck and looking him over. He was covered in blood, both from being shot in his shoulder and in his leg. His face was covered in bruises and bleeding in some spots. Shawn started coughing, wheezing and trying to pull breath into his deprived lungs. He opened his eyes, realizing that someone was holding him, and looked up at Lassiter. He was shaking terribly, probably from shock, Lassiter thought. And then he realized something else. The other man was crying. Really, Shawn was crying.

"Lassie..." Was all Shawn said, his voice quivered as he spoke, tears running freely from his hazel eyes, and Lassiter had to look away. "Thanks."


	7. Chapter 7

The ride to the hospital was the longest Lassiter had ever experienced. He wasn't sure why, but he had insisted on riding with Shawn. Maybe it was the terrified look on the psychic's face, or the way he had refused to let go of Lassiter's hand. Whatever the reason, he now found himself sitting in the back of the ambulance, watching helplessly as the paramedics worked.

Shawn looked confused, watching the paramedics anxiously, as if he didn't trust them. But, when he saw Lassiter in the corner, he seemed to calm down. At least he had stopped crying. Lassiter wasn't sure how much more he could take, seeing Shawn, of all people, crying. Of course he understood why, the man had almost died, but, it still seemed so wrong.

Shawn looked away, and Lassiter took that as his cue to bury his face in his hands. The events of the past twelve hours were a jumbled wreck in his mind, and he tried to straighten them out as the ambulance sped onward.

**o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o**

Lassiter watched as Shawn was wheeled into the ER. He'd passed out in the ambulance, most likely from exhaustion, the paramedics had said. But the drastic increase in his heart rate still had the detective worried. He watched the doctors and surgeons, shouting unintelligible orders to each other as they retreated down the hall of the hospital, and into the ER.

His work finally done, for now, at least, Lassiter made his way to the row of hard plastic chairs in the waiting room, and sat down. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He'd never thought something so traumatic would happen to Shawn, and he never thought he'd be this worried if it had. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he really wouldn't know what to do without the psychic around.

**o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o**

Henry and Guster arrived at the hospital minutes after Lassiter, and immediately began bombarding him with questions. Lassiter stood up, backing away from them and their jumbled questions, his hands raised in surrender. "Please," he said, and Henry and Gus stopped talking. "He passed out on the way here, and his heart rate increased drastically. They took him to the ER as soon as we got here; and you know just as much as I do." He didn't bother to tell them about how the psychic had insisted that Lassiter hold his hand for the entire ride (at least, the conscious part of it) and had refused to settle down until he had. Or the look of complete terror in his eyes, and how he genuinely seemed grateful for Lassiter's rescuing him.

He rubbed his eyes and sat back down. Lassiter had been so full of adrenaline the past hour that he was suddenly starting to feel tired again.

Guster and Henry sat to his right, and he glanced at them briefly. Henry was sitting back in his chair with his arms crossed, staring down the hall they had wheeled Shawn down. Guster was on the other side of Henry, his elbows on his knees and his chin rested on his locked fingers.

And now began the wait.

**o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o**

He had been vaguely aware of what was happening around him. All he could think was that he couldn't breath. He felt the rope tightening around his throat, his eyes closed tightly, and he kicked weakly, the rest of his body struggling to find purchase, despite the new pain each movement brought to his various injuries.

His blood was pounding in his ears, and he barely heard the shout: "Drop your weapon, and step away from Spencer." Lassie's voice was so demanding... And Shawn felt that, as long as he was there, he would be fine. Lassie would save him. But each second was torture, his lungs felt like they were on fire, and he felt himself slipping further and further away the more time passed. What was taking him so long?

Shawn was no longer aware of what was going on around him. He could hear talking and loud noises, but none of that mattered now. He was too weak to struggle anymore, and let his body go limp, feeling his last thread of conscious thought drift away from him. So, this is how it's going to be, huh? he thought.

Two loud bangs in rapid succession. The first right to his left, and the second, right above him, and he felt himself falling, felt himself crumple to the ground, too weak to hold himself up, and barely feeling the pain flare in his injured leg as he landed on it.

There were suddenly hands on him-loosening the rope around his neck and holding him up. He struggled to pull air into his lungs, coughing a few times, and breathing quickly and heavily. The oxygen rush to his brain was causing his head to pound, and he felt slow awareness starting to come back to him. No, he thought So sleepy, just let me sleep...

But he couldn't, and Shawn found himself forcing his eyes open, and he became aware that he was shaking horribly. From the cold or the shock, he couldn't care to think about right now. Oh, God, he thought suddenly. I almost died... Eye lids betrayed him and opened their dam, letting forth a flood of tears that drained freely down his aching face. And he looked up at his savior with vision distorted.

"Lassie..." he said, though it was more of a raspy sob. Lassiter looked uncomfortable, and turned away, but Shawn had to say what was on his mind: "Thanks..." for saving me. The rest didn't come out, though, his throat was dry and refused to let anything else out, and he sighed, his breath hitching with each small sob. I almost died.

**o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o**

The lights that blinded him were exactly what Shawn expected to see when he woke up. Didn't they know it was polite to turn the lights off when people were sleeping? Now he closed his eyes, willing the gradually increasing headache to go away. When he opened his eyes, he realized that there were no lights on, and that what blinded him was the sun shining through the flimsy white curtain on the window to his left. How late was it?

The door to his right opened, and Shawn instinctively jumped, pushing himself to the left side of the bed. "Oh, you're awake." He watched as the nurse stopped just inside the room. "You have a lot of worried people waiting here for you to wake up." She said, flipping the light on, which made Shawn flinch, and walking up next to his bed. "I'm just going to check a few things, then I'll get the doctor."

The nurse fiddled with his IV and checked his heart monitor for a while, and while any other time, Shawn would be flirting with her to no end, right now, his mind was somewhere else. In fact, he hadn't even caught her name. He realized this as she was leaving the room, and he looked down at the blue blanket he was covered in. His gaze drifted from his torso down to his feet, cataloging every visible injury, various bruises on his arms and chest and definitely more where he couldn't see on his face, and then the obvious two. The wound on his shoulder was patched nicely, and his arm was in a cast, as was his leg.

He sighed, letting his head fall back to his pillow. His eyes closed and his thoughts began to drift away. He couldn't stop thinking about Eric. The look of total shock on his face when he'd shot him... That made him think of Donnie, his complete rage, and that brought him to his near-death, and then he didn't want to think about it anymore.

The door opened again, and he looked up as a doctor walked in. "Good morning, Mr. Spencer," he said cheerfully, walking up to Shawn's bed.

"Shawn." It sounded a bit rude, but he didn't mean it to.

"Shawn." the doctor corrected himself. "I'm Doctor Rodriguez. I understand you have some visitors who are anxious to see you, so I'll make this quick, so they can get in here." He said, flipping through the papers on his clip board. Rodriguez then proceeded to list Shawn's numerous injuries and go into shocking detail of his surgery and how it had all been a complete success. A concussion here, a fractured rib there, and stitches where his forehead had been smashed open by Donnie's gun. He was happy when Rodriguez finally left him, saying "I'll go get your visitors, now." before slipping outside.

The door opened again minutes later, and Henry walked in, stopping next to Shawn. He took Shawn's right hand in his, wary of the IV. "Shawn," he said, and Shawn was certain he heard his voice break.

"Dad."

They stared at each other in silence, neither knowing exactly how to say what needed to be said. "Shawn," Henry began, but couldn't seem to find the right words.

"I know." Shawn said. "Me, too, dad."

Gus joined them a minute later, and Shawn was able to keep his mind off of the morning's events for a while. Gus always knew exactly how to cheer him up. He'd asked about Lassiter and Juliet, and Gus said they were at the station, filling out a ton of paperwork.

It was close to 10:30 when Gus looked at his watch. "Oh, shoot..." Gus said, looking regretfully back at Shawn. Shawn tilted his head, a small frown forming as Gus continued, "I promised I'd have lunch with Tory again, today."

"You're kidding." Shawn said. "Seriously, you're gonna ditch your best friend? Again?"

Gus smiled at him. "Wouldn't dream of it." He said.

**o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o**

Shawn didn't even remember falling asleep. He sat up suddenly, breathing heavily and looking frantically around the room. The light was off, and he saw someone standing in the corner of the room. Too tall to be Gus. "Dad?" he called out. No, too tall to be his dad, either.

The figure moved forward, and Shawn pushed himself back into his pillow. "Shawn," the voice said. A familiar voice. Donnie? he thought.

That was impossible. He should be in jail. The figure got even closer, and reached for him, and Shawn shouted, swinging his arm blindly in the darkness.

Shawn felt his fist connect with something solid, and the hiss of pain and then "Spencer!" Now that wasn't right.

"Lassie?" Shawn said. Lassiter reached behind him and flipped the switch there, turning the light on. Lassiter was holding the side of his jaw with one hand, a slight look of anger on his face, though he could tell the detective was worried.

"What the hell, Spencer?" Lassiter said, rubbing his jaw. "Were you having a nightmare?"

"Uh," Shawn looked around. "Sort of." He said, fidgeting with his blanket for a minute, feeling Lassiter watching him. He looked back up at the detective. "Um, Lassie?"

Lassiter looked down at him, his arms folded across his chest now. "What is it, Spencer?"

"I just... Needed to say 'thanks' for, you know." Lassiter frowned. He had heard Shawn clearly enough that morning, and he thought back to the man crying in his arms.

"You're welcome." Lassiter mumbled, looking to the side. Shawn nodded, looking away.

"Hey, Lassie?" Shawn said, and Lassiter looked again, annoyance clear on his face. "I wanted to ask you... What... Where's Donnie?"

"He's dead." Lassiter said bluntly.

"Oh." Shawn said. They said nothing again, the silence falling awkwardly around them. "Lassie," Shawn said again, and Lassiter forced himself to look calmly at the psychic. "I killed Eric." He said it quietly, and Lassie had to strain to hear.

"Yeah," Lassiter said. "I know." Shawn looked surprised, and then fearful. "You didn't do anything wrong," Lassiter said, noticing his expression. "The guy was going to kill you. You did what you had to do." Shawn wasn't sure what surprised him more, the way Lassiter was talking to him, like he cared, or that he wasn't going to go to jail. "You won't go to jail for defending yourself." Lassiter read his mind.

Shawn sighed, a small weight lifted from his chest. "Hey," he said, looking up at the detective. "What were the brothers doing that was so illegal?" he asked. He couldn't figure it out.

"They were bank robbers." Lassiter said.

"No kidding."

"No," Lassiter continued, "Apparently the garage was where they had been hiding their getaway cars."

"Wow."

"Your luck is horrible, Spencer."

**o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o END o—o o—o o—o o—o o—o**

A/N: Well, it's finally finished. And now I can start posting the other fics I have. Sorry for the incredibly long wait, the past few months I have been moving and getting settled into my new apartment. Hope you guys enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it!


End file.
